


Two On The Aisle

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four Times Sherlock's Taken Molly to the Theater and The One Time She Enjoyed It</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two On The Aisle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writingwife83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/gifts).



> This is based off a prompt given to me by writingwife83: "Sherlock invites Molly to the theatre".

She couldn’t even really remember the first one they went to see.

The actors, the plot, nothing imprinted in her memory but how sweaty her palms were and how she was so careful about making sure that her arm didn’t brush his as they sat side by side in the darkened theater.

The invitation had caught her quite by surprise. Sherlock had swept into the lab (as usual) demanding supplies and her presence that evening (NOT usual). Her mouth had gone positively dry as he had produced from his pocket a ticket to the Adelphi and had abruptly left with a swish of his coat.

He’d arrived almost too late and sat beside her with barely an acknowledgement of her and was gone by the interval. Molly didn’t know exactly what had happened, looking over her shoulder to scan for him in the crowd the whole of the second half, missing the play entirely.

She didn’t see him again for several days and by then he and his new flatmate were too busy talking to Lestrade in the morgue.

Molly went back to work.

* * *

 

The next time a ticket appeared at her desk, it was to the National Theatre, a decent seat to the latest smash hit she saw advertised at every tube station.

Against her will, she felt her breathing quicken, irrational hopes overriding previous evidence of what she was to expect.

It was a mistake.

Sherlock showed up for the second half this time, bouncing his knee most of the time. She could practically feel his impatience as she noted his knee bounce, the up-down-up-down catching more of her attention than what was onstage. She had turned to tell him so as soon as it was appropriate to do so, but he’d disappeared during the din of applause.

Later, she couldn’t really pinpoint the piece of the night that had disappointed her most.

 

* * *

 

She stared at the card, cheery red announcing seasons’ greetings gold lettering. She’d found it in her locker the morning after a Christmas she’d rather forget.

His initials were scrawled onto the card near the bottom in a rushed hand, but she wasn’t looking at that.

No, she was more intently staring at the two tickets in her hand, ones that were for the Victoria Palace, third row, center, to a show she knew for a fact were sold out.

Heaven knows what he was trying to tell her now, but she didn’t need another apology.

She bit her lip a bit as she handed them over to the man behind the glass, a polite smile and a request for donation of their value to Save the Children.

The wind picked up to be biting and she shivered into her coat as she quickly walked back toward the Tube station.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock winced a bit as he slid into his seat beside her at the Barbican.  She did her best to keep her expression neutral, but didn’t last long; she reached out, placed her hand on his and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“I’m fine, Molly,” he whispered quietly, but turned his hand to catch her fingers with his. Their eyes met and she could see that he was trying to convey much more than he was saying right now, a look she’d seen on his face through awkward hospital visits and the odd lab visit while he was on the road to recovery.

The curtain rose and the lights dimmed just as it looked like he was going to say more, and Molly carefully moved her hand back into her lap.

She could tell that his eyes were on her most of the time, and she tried not to squirm under their scrutiny; it had been so long since Sherlock had made her this physically nervous, and like a coward she excused herself to the loo during the duration of the interval, not sure if whether or not she wished for him to disappear as he usually did on these outings. She was still unclear after all these years what exactly all these were about, always afraid of what the answer might be. Maybe it was best not to know.

He was occupied with his phone when she made it back to her seat, and Molly’s mouth twitched up a bit, noting the people around them that definitely recognized him. He glanced up at her, catching her smirk and blinking a moment before figuring out what was amusing her, rolling his eyes in response. This made her actually laugh as she took her seat beside him again, the curtain rising a moment later, stopping any intended conversation.

For a moment, Molly felt herself relax and try to focus on what was going on in front of her...only to have it broken when she felt his hand close over hers. Her gaze flew to meet his, the half-illuminated darkness showing her that same look she’d been seeing for weeks from him. She was confused, more than a bit hurt, but mostly...hopeful.

He didn’t let go until they were just outside the theatre, when he bent down and ever so softly kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Molly Hooper,” he said before turning and walking away.

She missed the warmth of his hand in the mid-December chill.

 

* * *

 

She stood awkwardly by the closed theatre doors, glancing around for Sherlock, watching the black cabs that moved across Landor Road. It wasn’t the usual West End ticket that she was used to awkwardly sitting beside him with, so she was curious to this summons in the early part of the afternoon to Clapham.

The stage door opened and Sherlock poked his head out. “Ah, Molly, there you are!” he called to her, waving her over to the side entrance and taking her hand to drag her inside.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” she asked he led her through dimly lit back hallways, stepping over a pile of rope and what looked like a wooden rocking horse. “Is this a case?”

He paused and she nearly ran right into him. “Case? Well, not strictly. But definitely still consulting.”

Sherlock moved forward again, leading her towards what was obviously the stage before he abruptly stopped again. “Oh. I forgot!”

Before Molly could question him, he turned around and took her face in his hands, tipping it up so that he could plant his lips over her surprised ones. She recovered quickly placed her hands lightly on his waist, the sensations tingling down to her toes.

After a few moments, he pulled back enough to press his forehead to hers as they caught their breath.

“Hello,” he whispered with a small smile.

“Hello,” she breathlessly replied, doing her best (though likely failing) to keep the size of her smile in check, still getting used to the reality of Sherlock Holmes as her boyfriend.  

He kissed the tip of her nose before taking her hand again and leading her towards the wings. “Been asked to consult with a troupe for a new play.”

“Consulting on...crime scenes?”

“Investigation of crime scenes,” he said with a wink to her as they appeared on the stage. “Needed to have my pathologist by my side.”

Molly smiled back at him as they stepped into the limelight together.

  
**END**


End file.
